Smile Like You Mean It
by Tribble Master
Summary: Carroll was right all along. John fought it once, and it slithered away. The Jabberwock is horrifyingly real. Smile like you mean it, it'll be the last thing you ever do. Set Season one.
1. Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

**Challenge issued by the evil genius: Platinum Rose Lady**

**Awesome Betas: Platinum Rose Lady **_and _**LivingForTV  
Disclaimer: **Me? Own them? You've got to be kidding.

A/N: Wow... I mean, holy shit. This challenge was hard. How am I supposed to make a horror story from "Tickle Monster is real?" I hope this worked out okay. It kind of spiraled out of control. Tell me if it's scary, cause I'm trying _really _hard.

Also, this is set durring Season One. Because back then, the angst was so much simpler.

**Smile Like You Mean It  
**

**Chapter One: Once Upon a Midnight Dreary  
**_While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
"_The Raven," Edgar Allen Poe

o-o-o-o-o-o _England__, the 1870s _o-o-o-o-o-o

He looked nervously up at his door and then back down at his work. Biting his quill, he thought about his next words carefully. The entire satire was a dangerous little political rabble on England's current state but he really wanted to put in one more warning.

He knew for a fact people in London weren't dying of heart attacks.

That was a perfectly sensible lie that most people of good upper class standing were happy to accept. He was not one of those people and he had to put out some warning in his finished story, even if other people wrote it off as nonsense. _'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves_, he began to scrawl hastily. The sudden knocking on his door startled him. He looked up expecting the worst and he was right.

It was his unpleasant land lord, a loud and uncouth man. The author did not want to think about his rent being due when people were dying. Scowling, he resolved to write quickly and be done before morning. He had to go face the monster head on, and get some money for his bloody rent.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o **_Now _**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At first glance, Alexandria Abbot died of a heart attack. As the autopsy report later clarified, her heart had given out at the same times her lungs couldn't keep up with her demand for oxygen. Her stomach was also painfully ruptured. In short, as the mystified Doctor reported, she died of laughter. He didn't bother explaining the splotchy bruises all along her arms; it was already too strange. They were in a line, three at time. Almost like they were suction cups on tentacles such as an octopus might have. But the Doctor didn't know what kind of land monster had tentacles that could wrap around a person's arms.

When Joseph Kerr was wheeled in on a metal slab, he had the same type of bruises dark and purple. His bruises were wrapped around his stomach. The Doctor did the report just to be sure, but he already knew. Joseph Kerr died laughing. It was all just a little weird for his taste, as he explained to the two FBI agents that had visited him.

Later that night, in his office the Doctor was writing his notes. He was humming an old rock and roll tune, when he realized that's why the FBI agents' names sound so familiar. He shrugged it off and continued to speculate on what the bruises meant, or what could have made them. He heard a knocking on his door. He finished his sentence and looked up, "Who's there?"

A deep growl voice playfully announced, "Boo."

The Doctor stood up to open the door and he called out, "Boo who?"

The door swung open as the voice boomed, "Don't cry; it's just a joke."

His jaw dropped as the horrifying truth faced him. His lips moved but he couldn't find a sound brave enough to escape his throat. In front of him he saw a monster; seven feet tall, with writhing and twisting skin that seemed to be alive and completely covered in foul sticky mucus. Dotting the skin was ugly purple sores that were rotting and burnt. The Doctor looked up at the one large yellow eye in disbelief.

The monster reached out his six tentacles and grabbed the Doctor around the middle. The Doctors' arms flailed, but with every movement more he made a tentacle wrapped tighter around his neck, chest, or stomach. He could feel the tentacles wriggling on him, moving in a macabre mockery of tickling.

The monster leaned closer as he neared hyperventilating.

"You can scream now." The thick voice said softly.

The Doctor's screams were drowned out by the monster's booming laughter. As the tentacles squeezed tighter, his screams turned in to a whimper.

Then that whimper turned into a chuckle. His face twisted into a grotesque grin as he began to laugh.

One yellow eye watched happily as the man in his arms began to twist and laugh in anything but pleasure. The Doctor's wracking laughter became quicker and frenzied as the monster wiggled his tentacles. Each tentacle was attached to him, creating physical contact with suction cup grip moving in its own panicked motions until, all the laughter ceased suddenly.

The Tickle Monster dropped him, savoring a good belly laugh of success. He feasted on the laughter and the life force he'd drained from the Doctor.

"_Beware my son," _an author had written long ago, "_The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!"_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Well, the Doctor we visited yesterday is dead." Sam said glumly as he threw down the morning's paper. "His office was torn apart by burglars, they say."

Dean took another sip of his coffee as the effects slowly began kick in. He blinked sleepily as he started to accept that is was morning and the blurry shapes around him were people. Despite the general unpleasantness of waking up, he was enjoying the renewed tradition of sharing breakfast with his brother. "How'd he die?"

Sam looked down at his breakfast. The eggs were dry, the bacon was over cooked; typical diner food. It already seemed like years ago that Jess had cooked him delicious food. "They haven't released the official report." He gestured with his fork at the paper in between them. "But he had the same tentacle like bruises on his arm." He jammed a fork into his food and looked up at Dean. "Best guess? He died laughing like the others."

Dean looked around the diner, and checked no one was nearby. He leaned closer to Sam. "So what is it?"

Sam shrugged as he took a bite of his eggs. He chewed thoughtfully. Dean smiled to himself. "I mean, I've got an idea but… you wouldn't believe me."

Sam swallowed his mouthful. "What is it Dean? Any theory is better than none."

Dean raised his eyebrows and said seriously. "The tickle monster is _real._"

Sam rolled his eyes and threw down his fork. "Please. That's just some bull shit you made up to scare me as a kid."

Dean smirked as he remembered the terror in six-year-old Sam's eyes. "Yeah… that was fun."

Sam glared at him. One thing he hadn't missed at Stanford was being teased because he was a younger sibling. Dean shook his head to clear away the memories. "But seriously, Sam. They died laughing, tentacle grip on their arm—what else is there?"

Sam opened his mouth to retort but stopped as the waitress appeared. "More coffee, sugar?" She asked with a wink.

Dean pushed his coffee toward her. "Please."

As she poured the coffee, he winked at her. Sam kicked his foot under the table. Dean scowled. The anger on his face quickly deterred any illusions the waitress may have had. She pouted and turned to Sam, who smiled politely, "Thank you."

She left them. Dean watched her go before he turned back to Sam. "You were saying something about how I'm right?"

Sam huffed. "Okay, fine, let's assume that you could be right-"

"Am right." Dean muttered.

"-but how do we kill it?" Sam continued. "I haven't read a lot of lore on tickle monsters."

"Maybe you could make the tickling stop by using the safe word?" Dean said mischievously.

Sam rolled his eyes as he pulled out his wallet. He threw down some cash and stood up. "Alright, let's go see what he can find."

Dean didn't stand up. He pouted up at Sam. "But I haven't finished my coffee…"

Sam looked at the death grip Dean had on the white porcelain mug. He shook his head. "Just come on. Maybe the waitress will give you a to-go cup."

Dean picked up his cup of nectar and went to go talk to the waitress. Fumbling, he tossed Sam the car keys. Sam went out to the parking lot and started the car. The Impala idled for several minutes before Dean finally returned beaming. As Dean got into the driver's seat he set down an extra large to go cup of coffee in the cup holder.

"What took so long?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

Dean reached into his pocket and held up his prize. Sam rolled his eyes at the sight of a lipstick stained napkin complete with a phone number. "If I'm lucky I'll get my own tickle monster." Dean winked.

Sam didn't give him the satisfaction of a frown. He simply said, "Well can we get going already? I want to head back to our room and use my laptop."

Dean took long sip of his coffee and sighed happily. "Okay, okay, we're going."

Sam reached over into the backseat and pulled his duffle bag forward as Dean eased the car onto the main road. As they drove to the motel Sam rummaged through his duffle bag. Dean looked over at Sam. "What do you expect to find in there?"

Sam didn't look up as he shoved aside more dirty laundry. Grunting he pulled out an old beaten journal. "Maybe the answer."

Dean raised one eyebrow and turned on the radio. _Enter the Sandman _began to play. They drove in silence for the rest of the trip as Dean thought about the first time he'd heard of the horror of Tickle Monster.

Once upon a time he had thought it was just a story. Now, glancing over at Dad's journal resting in Sam's lap, he wondered if there was more truth to what parents told their kids.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

John stumbled into the motel bone weary. He shrugged of his leather jacket but kept on his long flannel shirt to hide the bruises from the day's hunt. Dean poked his head out of the bedroom. He set down the abridged children's copy of _Through the Looking Glass _that he had been reading to Sammy earlier. He looked at his Dad worriedly. "Dad?" the six year old said timidly.

"Deanno." John sighed, bending down on one knee with his arms held out. "C'mere and give your old man a hug."

Dean smiled and ran into his arms. Despite his sore arms, John picked his son up. Dean wiggled and giggled in his grip, unable to break loose. "Not so fast squirt!" John laughed. "I've got you!"

Dean's eyes closed as body fell slack and John froze. "Dean?" He prompted. He relaxed his hold on Dean as he looked at the boy, listening for shallow breathing. "Dean?"

Dean's eyes sprung open as he yanked his arms free. "Attack of the tickle monster!" he shrieked playfully as he tickled his Dad.

John chuckled and set Dean down on the couch. "You got me! Enough!" As Dean stopped, John shook his head. "You wanna know about the _real_ tickle monster?"

Dean froze and his eyes widened in childlike wonder. "He's real?"

"Real-er than Santa Clause." John winked.

Dean's eyebrows creased as he looked down puzzled.

"Never mind," John said quickly. "Just trust me, he's real."

"Wow." Dean gasped. "You seen him?"

"You bet. He's big and slimy and has six long tentacles. Guess what color he is?" John leaned close to Dean. John smiled playfully, suppressing the horrible image he'd seen earlier.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest as he thought intensely. "Um…purple?"

John ruffled the kid's blonde hair. "Close. He's black and got purple spots with one big yellow eye."

"That's silly!" Dean chirped as began giggling.

John reflected on what he'd seen earlier. "Yeah, it is."

Dean looked up at his Dad seriously. "Did you stop him Daddy?"

"Of course I did," John lied with a trustworthy smile.

Dean believed him as he asked one more question. "How?" he yawned.

"With a feather and a little help from Carroll," John said scooping him and taking him to bed. Dean fell asleep in his father's arms. John pulled the covers over his son and went to his own bed. After making sure the Feather was safely hidden away he got ready for bed. He'd been so damn close- John wondered where the miserable creature had crawled to after he'd chopped of three of its awful limbs.

No place good, he was sure.

In the other room, Dean hugged his feather pillow closer for protection as he dreamed of tickles and tentacles.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean snapped his fingers as he repeated, "With a feather."

Sam looked up from the passenger seat and yawned. His hand was resting on the cover of the unopened journal. "What was that?"

Dean slowed the car down and pulled over. He shut the engine off and turned to Sam. "Dad's faced this before." He shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't remember before, but it was in '86, you were only two."

"Dean," he said as jammed his finger down at the beaten leather journal, "Don't you think we would have noticed something like this in Dad's journal?" Sam's voice went deeper as he imitated John's deep timbre, "'Dear Diary, Today I fought a ticklish monster and tickled it to death with a feather.'"

Dean scowled. "Smartass, I'm serious. He came home with bruises all down his arms; I saw them when he was working on the Impala the next day."

Sam regarded Dean warily. "But with a feather? Was that the only clue?"

Dean wiggled the keys in front of Sam. "I can't be sure, but he said something about Carroll. And I know there's something in the trunk."

Sam undid his seatbelt and reached for the door. "Carroll? You think a girl helped him out?"

"Who knows?" Dean shrugged as he opened his door. "Let's check out the trunk."

Dean and Sam walked around to the back of the Impala. Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt and reflected on who Carroll was. "Maybe she's another psychic." Sam said helpfully. "Or a serious bad ass."

Dean rolled his eyes and stuck the keys into the trunk.

"I always wondered what this did," Dean said excitedly as he fumbled with the Impala's lock, "I remember seeing it back then. When he was working on the Impala he threw it way in the back. Dad said I wasn't supposed to touch it…"

Sam had to admit he was also excited to see what it was. Hearing the click, he lifted up the trunk. Next to him, Dean lifted up the false bottom to reveal their weapons display. Dean brushed aside three strings of ammunition, one magazine, and a stray gun for Sam to see it. Buried under the back, in a dirty black scabbard was a long an elegant sword. Sam pointed excitedly to the scabbard. On the very end in gold cursive it simply said, "_For Carroll's Defense."_

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "How curious," Dean muttered as he withdrew the blade. It was well balanced steel, a very ancient weapon that was still quite effective.

On the golden handle of the sword was a small printed name for the blade. "Feather," Sam read excitedly.

Dean smirked. "With a feather. Damnit Dad! Always with the freaking weapons."

Sam reached out and took the blade from Dean. He turned away from the car and swung it experimentally. "But that doesn't tell us who Carroll is."

Dean leaned against the trunk of the car as he watched Sam's sword play. "You know who I think of?" Dean mused. "Alice."

Sam stopped and lowered the blade. "Alice, who?"

"You know- those Wonderland books." Dean said with a shrug.

Sam snapped. "Lewis Carroll." His eyes grew brighter and he smiled, he opened his mouth to say something but Dean held up his hand.

"Don't even start geek boy, I can tell when you want to research something." Dean slammed the trunk. "Grab the Feather and get back in the car."

Sam sheathed the weapon and got into the Impala with Dean.

**.:To Be Continued:.**


	2. From the Pages of a Story

**Challenge issued by the evil genius: Platinum Rose Lady**

**Awesome Betas: Platinum Rose Lady **_and _**LivingForTV  
Disclaimer: **Me? Own them? You've got to be kidding.

A/N: This is one of my top fave literary beasts. Ever.  
Also: I acknowledge my factual inaccuracy. If you catch it, you are a history geek.

**Smile Like You Mean It  
**

**Chapter Two: From the Pages of a Story  
**So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -  
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -  
This it is, and nothing more,'  
"_The Raven," _Edgar Allen Poe

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o **England****, the 1870s **o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lewis Carroll continued to write his poem, pausing to look over his shoulder now and then. He had to finish the last stanza before he went out that evening. Lewis had been enormously relieved that the knocking on his door earlier had only been his land lord demanding rent. Still, it'd rather thrown off his tempo. Whatever train of thought he'd had, had long since crashed in the wake of the dull conversation. When he'd inquired if there'd been anymore strange happenings tonight, the obese land lord had immediately turned the conversation back to pounds and shillings.

He looked down at his poem and frowned. It's not like this job (as his dad had affectionately called it, 'the family business') paid that well, but it saved lives. Absentmindedly, he chewed on the nib of his pen as he thought. It looked to him, like in the third stanza he'd gone off on a bit of a tangent. Bloody hell, he cursed, it seemed as if he had lost his point entirely. The foul taste of ink touched his tongue, and he remembered he was chewing on the nib. He looked disgustedly at the pen and set it down. After taking a sip of water he picked it back up. Scowling, he crossed out stanzas left and right.

Carroll couldn't fathom the horrors that were going on as he wasted time writing. Only last month it had been that Ripper nonsense, and now there was this. Alice, only nine years old, she had been so full of life. After she'd told him of her visit to Wonderland, he'd begun writing. She was dead now as one of the firsts to fall victim to the plague, as the Doctor's called it for lack of better term, that was sweeping the city. Carroll knew though it was no plague, no matter how often they wrote it off as a rash of laughter inspired heart attacks. He may have been just a mathematician but he knew he had to carry on his family business. Just because he'd run off to the University didn't mean he was done hunting. Carroll continued scribbling as he tapped his foot impatiently.

Preemptively he wrote in the upcoming battle:

One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back.

Satisfied, he finished. With a nod, he set down his pen and blew out his candle. In the semi darkness of his study he picked up his sword that had been hanging by the door.

Looking back at the complete novel on his desk, he smiled and shut the door behind himself.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam was the first to enter their motel room. He immediately nestled at the desk behind his laptop. Dean walked in behind him, holding Feather tightly. He threw his duffle down on the bed and looked over at Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, "Geek."

Dean flopped onto the bed and pulled out their dad's journal. He began to half heartedly flip through the journal scouring for any entries that started with, _Dear Diary today I faced a ticklish monster… _Instead, he found a page that simply said:

_Carroll was right._

_Have his blade. Bobby nearly killed me for it, but he agreed to let me… borrow… it._

_Fuck it was close, even with the blade. If it shows up again, gotta make sure to get all its arms off before I go for the kill shot. Thank god all I got were bruises and giggles._

Dean slammed the book shut and looked up wide eyed at Sam. He opened his mouth to talk but Sam started to jabber excitedly, "Dean! I got it!"

Dean gestured at the leather bound journal in his hound. "Me-"

Sam interrupted him. "Lewis Carroll's the Jabberwock. It's exactly what we wanted, but you have to read the unpublished stanzas to understand."

"I know Sam!" Dean said exasperated as he waved the journal. "I found it in Dad's journal!"

Sam looked up at him, momentarily distracted from his research. "Really?"

Dean nodded exasperated. "But why don't you read what you have first."

Sam hesitated, and then cleared his throat. "Okay, here it is--"

'Twas brillig in the boorish groves  
About about lurked little mumsy twits  
One and two little fools with hearts  
The Jabberwock sent into fits.

"Beware the Jabberwock my son!"  
"Beware the laughter of his tentacles!"  
"You've naught to fear but the Jabberwock!"  
"One must know of his slimly hold!"

Sam looked up a he finished reading. "Lewis Carroll wrote this as a warning."

Dean nodded as gestured at the journal. "Dad wrote that you have to cut off all the tentacles before you lop off his head."

Sam glanced over his lap top. "There's more, but I think you get it." He looked at Dean and frowned. "Now the real problem, how do we capture the Jabberwock?"

"Tickle Monster." Dean corrected despite Sam's damning glare. "And I've got no clue."

"We could search the sewers." Sam said half heartedly. "The Jabberwock liked swamps."

Dean scowled thinking of the awful stench. He still remembered vividly being tied up in the Shape shifter's lair . "I guess so." He shrugged with his usual bravado. "What do we have to lose?"

Sam shut his lap top and yawned. "But first let's gets some sleep. We can go out at night."

Dean reluctantly nodded and they went to bed.

How did the poets put it? "And, as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame," Carroll had once written, "came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That morning, when the Tickle Monster came home he noticed something smelled funny about his nest. The usual reek he enjoyed was wafting in the slimy tunnels, and he could still smell last night's meal rotting away. He ran one sticky tentacle over pipes as he felt his way back to the heart of his underground home.

It was nothing like the good old slimy swamps of England in the mumsy troves and borogoves, but it was cool, damp and dark. He liked it for the most part, and more importantly he could adapt. He remembered wistfully long ago those swamps, when he'd tasted something better than Jubjub birds. It'd first been a girl, he remembered pleasantly. She was a pretty little girl, blonde in a blue dress, completely lost in his world. He'd managed to snake one tentacle around her, but she escaped easily as his curiosity overcame his precautions. Her smell lingered on his tentacle for a week, tantalizingly good.

She ran off, the little nitwit, and he followed her silently in fascination. Finally he found the mirror.

Mirrors are lovely things. Even now, he tried to keep large discard pieces of glass as decorations. So perfect and precise, they didn't hide anything from the damning world. His yellow eye had blinked in wonder the first time he'd spied himself in something other than water. Truly horrifying, he liked it. It made him laugh to see his molting skin and arms as he stepped through the looking glass.

There, in the strange house he'd landed in, was that girl again moronically jabbering away to her family about a dream involving his nonsense world. He trapped them in the living room as he explored different ways to eat them. The little girl, he saved for last. Her horrified shrieking laughter was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Better than Jubjub birds or the Bandersantachs.

After that family and their kittens he'd promptly smashed the mirror. Who would ever want to leave this world?

From the time since then, he'd learned to adapt. Always moving on, never caught as he enjoyed the spoils of this world. Almost two decades ago, he'd been badly wounded by some silly moron and that damned blade Carroll had made. Since then, he learned to be more subtle. Growing back arms was a bitch (hard enough after Carroll had taken a hack) and he didn't know if he would lose his powers the longer he stayed in this world. His current abode was a lovely city that hardly seemed to notice him. He nestled into their sewers every time he moved and recreated his own English style home.

Sitting down in the middle of his current home at the heart of the sewer system he picked up the beaten copy of jokes he'd stolen a week ago. The binding of his tattered book smelled awful. He'd taken it after he had killed that Alexandria girl last week, and had been enjoying what it said. But something was wrong with his book. From the smell of it, he knew someone had been in his home touching his stuff. In fact, it smelled like one of those humans he'd seen at the Doctor's office before he'd strolled in. Well if they wanted him that was fine. He could always use someone new to take, he smiled thinly. His lips curled back to reveal his rows of gleaming teeth as he took another whiff of the book.

Smelled good.

Setting down his paperback, he decided to rest until night. When it was dark again, he would venture out to trace the sent.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There had been nothing in the sewers when Dean and Sam had ventured down there. Nothing worthwhile at least: a slimly, beaten joke book and assorted scraps- but no giant monster for them to fight. They had abandoned the sewers for the time being, and agreed to gather their weapons to return later that night for a proper fight.

Now it was just past dinner time and their empty take out cartons decorated the motel table. Dean ran the polish cloth over his gun and gave a low whistle of appreciation. Sam was also inspecting his weaponry with a critical eye. They both looked up as they heard a knocking on the door. All that mattered was the vorpal blade, Feather, but out of habit they had their guns ready.

"Who's there?" Dean called.

"Lettuce." Came the deep growl.

Dean looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "What the fuck?"

Sam held up his hands and shrugged, silently replying, "How should I know? Maybe it's him…"

Dean nodded and cocked his gun. He stood up and edged towards the door as he yelled. "Lettuce who?"

"Lettuce in- it's cold out here!" the voice said with a low chuckle as it burst through the door.

The Tickle Monster lunged forward at the closest Winchester- Dean. Seven feet tall, black and covered in purple welts, the six armed beast let out a ferocious laugh. Mucus dripped down from the top of its head, where it had one blood shot yellow eye, down to his feet.

The Tickle Monster wrapped it's tentacles around Dean. Two tentacles for each arm made a squelching nose as they took hold of Dean, and the other two tentacles were thrown around his waist. The Tickle Monster began to twist his arms.

Dean could feel bruises forming.

**the end... just kidding... to be continued.... **


	3. I'll Tell Thee Everything I Can

**Challenge issued by the evil genius: Platinum Rose Lady**

**Awesome Betas: Platinum Rose Lady **_and _**LivingForTV  
Disclaimer: **Me? Own them? You've got to be kidding.

A/N: I wrote some of this at work. But as far as my boss knows, I was folding t-shirts.

**Smile Like You Mean It  
**

**Chapter Three: I'll Tell Thee Everything I Can**

How cheerfully he seems to grin!  
How neatly spread his claws,  
And welcomes little fishes in  
With gently smiling jaws!

_"The Crocodile," Lewis Carroll _

Now, the things about Dean Winchester could fill a book. A very short, tawdry book but a decent paperback at the least. The chapters concerning his childhood were terse. They had been cut short as soon as Sam learned to walk and needed someone to look after him. As a result, Dean hadn't been tickled much. Once when he was six he had been tickled, but after he'd learned how to use his knife no one dared surprise him.

As the Tickle Monster held Dean, he felt the tentacles wriggling across his skin. Dean looked up at the Tickle Monster, who was angrily tickling him awaiting a reaction. Dean's lips curved into a tight, thin smile but he did not burst out laughing.

If he had those missing chapters of his life, he might have giggled more profusely. Dean was a lot of things, except childish. He twisted in the monster's grip trying to break free, nearly immune to the tickling.

Behind them, Sam had sprung into action. Now, the things about Sam Winchester could also fill a book. A very tall encyclopedia with a rigid spine that probably was to smart for it's own good. Somewhere after the chapters on his vivid and imaginative childhood, at about chapter fourteen you would find the weapons training.

Sam swung the vorpal sword as he advanced. With a snicker snack, one tentacle fell way and began to flop uselessly on the ground. "Watch where you swing Sam!" Dean hissed. "That was almost my torso!"

The Tickle Monster screamed and rotated his head almost all the way around to stare menacingly at Sam. "You," he bellowed, "I'll kill you for that as soon as I'm done choking the life out of this one."

"I don't think so." Sam hissed.

There was a squelching noise as the blade snicker-snacked away another limb. Dean's left arm was freed. He punched the beast, but his fist got stuck in the mucus. The Tickle Monster laughed hoarsely and loosened the tentacle around Dean's stomach.

Dean had just begun to breath easier when the large tentacle wrapped around his neck. "Move any further and I'll kill him." The Tickle Monster said coldly; all sense of humor gone.

Dean's lips began to turn blue as Sam maneuvered about the room. Sam forced a mocking laugh, "So this is the famous Jabberwock?"

The Tickle Monster growled. "That's one of my names, yes." He turned back to Dean and cocked his head. Dean's eyes bulged as the side of his mouth curled into an unnatural grin. The Tickle Monster smoothly continued, "Why do you ask?"

"Just wanted to make sure I wasn't talking to a cheap imitation." Sam hissed. "'Cause frankly, so far you've been pretty damn unimpressive. Where are the jaws that bite, the claws that catch?"

The Tickle Monster relaxed his hold on Dean as he turned to stare spitefully at Sam. "How dare you! I've been alive longer than you can imagine young whelp!" He smiled widely, barring his teeth. The long rotting yellow fangs momentarily caught Sam off guard. "Is that what you were looking for? Some truly horrible beast from legend?"

Dean started to make a low rasping noise that sounded faintly like chuckle. The Tickle Monster looked down. "I've had enough of him." He bent over and took a bite out of Dean's shoulder before throwing him down to the ground. "You need more laughter in your life."

The Tickle Monster wiped blood from his lips with one tentacle. He stepped over the Dean's nearly still form and advanced towards Sam. "Your turn. Knock knock."

Sam raised the blade. "No one's home, you bastard."

"That's not how the story goes!" He yelled charging forward.

Dean lay on the ground, twitching and bruised. His shoulder was bleeding and torn. Dean looked up, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, as he watched the monster advance. He reached out blindly for something to help Sam. He laughed to himself quietly as his probing fingers managed to grasp his knife. It felt light in his shaky hands. "With a feather." He smirked as he tried to attempt to stand. Failing, he laid there pinching the dagger's hilt between both fingers.

Sam hacked wildly with the blade as the Tickle Monster approached waving his four limbs and two stumps wildly. Gritting his teeth, Sam swung the blade, nicking one limb.

As the Tickle Monster reached out, one slimly tentacle wrapped around Sam's raised arm and began to encircle it in a death grip. Sam's tight grip on Feather began to falter as his arm was squeezed.

Dean's eyes were burning with tears as he began to laugh. Focusing with all the concentration he could muster, he threw the knife.

It struck the tentacle wrapped around Sam's arm. Immediately the Tickle Monster shrieked and released Sam's arm. Sam's arm dropped in a clean arc, taking off another limb. Blinded by fury, the Tickle Monster opened his jaws and leaned forward to dispatch Sam from his head.

Dean was moving again, shaking with mirth he inched forward. He grabbed at one of the Tickle Monster's thick legs making his fingers dig into the hideous sores. In between giggles Dean stammered something along the lines of, "D-d-d-don't t-t-t-touch muh-muh-my b-b-brother!"

One large tentacle reached down to back hand slap him across the face. Dean took the blow but lose his grip as the mucus covered his hands. "This is ridiculous." The Tickle Monster said with a low growl as wrapped his tentacle around Dean's mouth silencing him.

With the attention off him, Sam was a flurry of action. The Tickle Monster's one bulbous eye was focused solely on Dean's bulging eyes. "You're quite a pest aren't you." The Tickle Monster said with a foul smile as eagerly waited for Dean to go lifeless. "Can't help yourself now, can you? Admit it you want to laugh."

Despite being muffled by the twisting tentacle Dean nodded slowly. He reached up both his arms and began to yank at the tentacle in a weak self defense. Sam brought the knife down in three quick motions, ridding the monster of his limbs. Dean threw the tentacle that had been so vilely around his face down.

"This is just a scratch!" The Tickle Monster said confusedly as he looked down at his bleeding self. "I've had worse from the Jubjub birds and Bandersnatchs! This won't stop me!" He opened his mouth threateningly.

Sam lifted his tired arm and swung one last time with the vorpal blade. With one last snicker-snack, the Tickle Monster's head was thrown down as he was tickled by one last feather.

Dean touched his bloody shoulder tentatively. He looked down at the headless monster and back up at Sam. He smiled wearily. ""And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy.

Sam looked at Dean strangely. He could see all along Dean's arms and neck the large ugly bruises. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean laughed nervously. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and nodded. "Yeah, yeah." He looked up at Sam with a deep pain in his eyes. "We should burn him, y'know?"

Sam set down Feather and stepped closer to Dean. He too, had been touched by the tentacles but their hold hadn't been nearly as tight or as powerful on his arms. "Dean, really…" Sam prompted.

Dean looked at him, and smiled sadly as he shook his head. He held up his hands and showed Sam the slimy poison on his hands. "He got the last laugh," Dean said with shaky timber. His eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled into a pile. Sam fell to his knees and touched Dean's wounded shoulder. There was dark impression of the fangs that had caused this, and there would certainly be a scar.

Sam glanced darkly over at the manxome foe they had fought. Dean whimpered once- a low, nearly in audible sound- but for the most part he remained silently smiling even in unconsciousness. Sam lifted gently on to the bed. Turning away from Dean he picked up the Feather and rolled up his sleeves. He was prepared to chop up the Jabberwock, Tickle Monster, _beast _until he got a chance to burn all of its pieces.

A faint acidic smell was coming from the decaying foe. With grim determination, Sam hacked it to pieces and shoved it all into a black garbage bag. He tied up the foul mess and set it by the door. Sam looked over at Dean.

Dean hadn't moved.

Sam went into the bathroom and found the first aid kit they always brought with them. He sat down on the bed next to Dean. He placed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead and froze as he felt the burning temperature. Sam moved quickly to take off Dean's bloody and mucus covered clothes. As he started to slide away Dean's shirt, he realized he was in a world of trouble if Dean woke up. Ignoring that thought, he turned back to the task at hand.

Dean's torso was covered in more bruises than Sam had thought. There were scars too, long jagged ones that Sam hadn't seen before. _Probably something that happened while I was at school, _Sam frowned as he thought, _when he didn't have any hunting partner. _

Not wanting to, but knowing he had to; Sam removed Dean's jeans as well. He dragged Dean, who was no help at all, to the bath tub. Sam ran the hot water, washing away all the slimy poison and blood. Hopefully, it'd help with the fever as well.

Sam towel dried Dean's hair and carried him back to the bed. Carefully, he bandaged Dean's hurt shoulder. Sam hadn't patched up any real wounds at Stanford, and he was just now being thrust back into the hunter's lifestyle. But with the first aid kit in hand, all other motions were robotic. Skillfully he applied the anti-biotic and the gauze.

After Dean was sufficiently patched up and tucked under the covers, Sam waited. He pulled up a chair beside Dean's bedside and a battered book. Sam didn't even know what the book was called, and he hardly glanced at it. Every time he looked up at his brother, he shuddered.

Dean was smiling even in his sleep.

**.:To Be Continued:.**


	4. Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax

**Challenge issued by the evil genius: Platinum Rose Lady**

**Awesome Beta: ****LivingForTV  
Disclaimer: **Me? Own them? You've got to be kidding.

A/N: so some of you said this wasn't scary. oh well. i hope it was still fun.

Also, the chapter tittle is a obscure. But not to bad if you know what book I've been talking about.

**Smile Like You Mean It  
**

**Chapter Four: Of Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax and Cabbages and Kings**

Farewell false love, the oracle of lies,  
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,  
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,  
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed,  
A way of error, a temple full of treason,  
In all effects contrary unto reason.

'_Farewell to False Love,' _Sir Walter Raleigh

Sam eventually gave up on the book altogether, and started to pace mindlessly. He pulled out his cell phone but realized he didn't have the number he wanted. Or at least, he didn't have the current number. With a worried glance at Dean, Sam began to search through his brother's coat. Finally he found the cell phone in the breast pocket of Dean's leather jacket. Sam scrolled through the contacts until he found what he wanted. Taking a deep breath, he dialed.

Not surprisingly, it went to voice mail.

"Hey, Dad," Sam said as causally into the phone as he could, "It's Sam. Dean's not doing so well, and I wanted to know if you remembered anything about a hunt back in Illinois involving the tickle monster. 'Cause, uh, we killed it but not before it got a good hold of Dean." Sam pressed a hand against his temple, as he fought to keep his voice steady. "So if you think of anything, give us a call. Talk to you later." Sam finished hopefully.

Sam shut the phone down and set it on the nightstand, precisely on the wooden edge. He rested his head on his hands and sighed. It'd been so long since he'd talked to Dad. All his childhood memories had been boiled away through out the years and condensed into muddled image of fairy tales and lies. Not fairy tales of prancing moronic anorexic princesses, but the bloody tales of the brothers Grimm. John had told him stories as a child, and promised him they were only stories.

It was like his whole life was a dream until he'd read the journal and Dean told him otherwise. He'd kept living in a dream after he'd learned the truth- but it was more of a waking nightmare. Sam raised his head slowly and looked up at the cell phone in between him and his brother. _Isn't that just how it's always been, _he thought humorlessly, _Dad in the middle of us._

Sam glared at the phone, willing for some form of motion. The phone didn't rattle with John's strong timbre. "C'mon Dad," he hissed, silently adding, _Pick up the damn phone. _

Dean stirred from his bed at the sound of the familiar name. He tossed and his head lolled to face Sam as he murmured. "Dad?"

Sam got up from his chair and stood next to Dean. "Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Dad's here?" Dean repeated, hardly awake.

"Yeah." Sam frowned. Dean looked so small and childlike. Sam could only do what any other parent would do: He lied. "He's here Dean, but you just got to wake up."

"M'kay." Dean said with his eyes still closed. "Tell me a story Dad…"

Sam fell back into his chair, tiredly. Reluctantly, he picked up the tattered book he'd been glancing at. Opening it up to the first page, he read softly, "'_Alice__ was getting very tired of waiting for her sister by the bank._'"

Dean's face relaxed, and so did Sam. Dean's grin faded until his face was blank and serene. He was asleep without the thought of nightmares. Sam touched his forehead and felt the fever receding. Sam finished reading nearly the entire book out loud before Dean spoke again.

"…used…to read that to Sam." Dean smirked as he blinked himself awake.

Sam smiled and set down the book. Dean struggled to sit up. Sam was patiently at his side, helping his brother into a more comfortable position. Dean cocked his head to the side as he regarded Sam wearily. "I had the strangest dream…"

Sam nodded. "Why don't you tell me about it while I get you some soup to eat?" Sam stood up, watching Dean for any sign of relapse.

Dean continued to stay awake, chattering to Sam about cards and croquet. They didn't stay in the town much longer after Dean was feeling fine again. Dean's arm was sore and his movements were stiff. He protested against any more pampering though, and refused to admit that he had ever wanted to hear a story read out loud.

For days afterward, Dean would smile at inconsequential things and laugh lightly whenever the mood struck him. The mood struck him often. As much as Sam liked to hear his brother's laugh, it wasn't the same. Dean's laugh was devoid of any real humor; it was cold and done out of habit. As he laughed, his green eyes were empty of mirth.

It was a side effect of the Tickle Monster's poisonous hold. As Sam and Dean drove off into another painted sunset, Sam wondered if they would ever find a chance laugh again. Real, heart felt, laughter. He looked down at the cell phone in his hand, checking again that there were no new messages.

He frowned and looked back at Dean in the driver seat. His brother was smiling idiotically and belting some rock and roll tune. Dean saw Sam's glance and looked at him. "What Sam? If you keep leering at me like that people will think we just broke up."

"I ..." Sam hesitated to tell Dean at the phone call. "I just was thinking about Dad."

Dean frowned momentarily. "Yeah. Me, too."

"Really?" Sam said sitting straighter.

"Yeah, I think he could've taught the Jabberwock some decent jokes." Dean smirked drumming his fingers on the wheel. His hollow laugh was loud and grating on Sam's nerves.

"Oh." Sam slumped in his chair. "Probably."

"You know Sam," Dean said earnestly, "You should cheer up a little."

"Why's that?" Sam said sullenly.

"Because, all in all it could be worse." Dean turned to look at Sam. "We've got each other and no one fell down a rabbit hole."

Sam smiled reluctantly. He could tell Dean meant it. "I guess that's true."

Dean nodded as he pressed down on the gas pedal. "I can't wait to see Dad again and tell him we actually _defeated _the Tickle Monster."

Sam looked out the window at the long road ahead. "Yes," he agreed, "Can't wait."

Dean reached out to turn up the music louder but Sam held out his hand. "Dean," he said slowly, "do you think Dad should have told me earlier?"

Dean looked at him puzzled. Sam shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair as he mused on the right words. "Like, Alice was only nine when she saw Wonderland and she managed all that weird stuff just fine. Do you think Dad should have told me about what's really out there sooner instead of playing games?"

Dean stayed silent. His mind raced back to when he had been five. Most of that year he had been numb and silent. His remember faintly all the fantastical reasons he had conjured as to why he didn't have a mother, none of them involving the burning smell of flesh that haunted his memories. On his sixth birthday, John had made it painfully clear that his nightmares were real and his imagination was nothing compared to what was out there.

Sam watched his brother's brow crease. Dean perused his lips and his green eyes stared ahead, not at the road, but somewhere into the corners of his mind.

"Well?" Sam prompted. "Do you think parents should just be more honest with their kids?" Sam slumped in his seat. "Fat lot of good it does anyway, protecting them. I'm sure Alice died because of something gruesome. And you know for a fact how many kids we've never saved."

Dean's words were torn as he opened his mouth to speak.

**.:the end:.**


End file.
